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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
He had to be careful. He needed to be rich enough to fund his private militia and grease the necessary palms, but he had to simulate a natural accumulation of wealth. From now on, he decided, he would only draw from the mod chests once every few days, establishing a strict withdrawal schedule until he had built a steady, legitimate stream of income through Ysolda and his future investments.
Making his way past Breezehome, Aerion keep going forward, the rhythmic, metallic clang of a blacksmith's hammer growing louder with every step. The heat of the forge washed over him before he even reached the property line of Warmaiden's.
His immediate goal was simple, access the mod chest tucked discreetly behind the massive stone smelter. However, a glaring logistical problem presented itself. The chest was invisible to everyone but him.
If he simply walked up to the side of the smelter, stood facing a blank stone wall, and began pantomiming the act of transferring invisible thousands of gold coins into his robes, Adrienne would be suspicious and soon the city guards would likely throw him in the Dragonsreach dungeons for skooma intoxication. He needed a distraction. He needed an excuse to be in the workspace.
As he approached the forge, he saw that the distraction had presented itself perfectly.
Adrianne had her face smudged with soot and her leather apron stained with sweat, was leaning against her anvil. She was deep in conversation with two prominent Nords.
The older man, clad in fine, fur lined noble attire that practically screamed wealth, was Olfrid Battle-Born. Standing beside him, radiating a rigid, military discipline in his polished Imperial light armor, was his son, Idolaf.
Aerion slowed his pace, ensuring Lupin remained close at his heel. He remembered his promise to the fox, act dignified, get a sweet roll. Lupin seemed to remember as well, sitting perfectly upright beside Aerion's leg, his tail wrapped neatly around his paws, looking like a statue of absolute vulpine elegance.
Aerion tuned his ears to the Nords' conversation, his High Elven hearing easily picking up their voices over the crackle of the forge fire.
"I need fifty swords and thirty iron shields by the end of the month, Adrianne," Olfrid was saying, his voice a booming, authoritative rumble. "General Tullius is making moves in Solitude, and the Legion needs to be properly equipped if we are to crush this Stormcloak rebellion before the snows set in. The Battle-Borns have always support the Empire, and I won't have Eorlund Gray-Mane outfitting traitors while our boys march with chipped steel."
"I understand, Olfrid," Adrianne replied, wiping her brow with a heavy rag. "But that is a massive order. It's just me and Ulfberth, and he's better at selling the steel than striking it. I'll need more iron ingots, more leather strips, and a lot more time."
This was the perfect opening.
Aerion stepped fully into the light of the forge, the sudden movement drawing the attention of all three Nords. He offered a polite, measured bow, completely ignoring the innate tension that usually accompanied a High Elf interrupting a Nord business meeting.
"Forgive the intrusion, Adrienne," Aerion said, his voice smooth and carrying a respectful cadence. "I could not help but overhear that your forge is quite busy. However, I was wondering if I might impose upon you to rent your anvil and some tools for a short while? I wish to craft a simple iron sword, and I am more than willing to pay a good septims for the use of your materials."
Adrianne turned around, a genuine, welcoming smile breaking through the soot on her face. "Aerion! It's no intrusion at all. And there's no need to be so poliey titles, we are friends. You want to try your hand at the hammer again, do you?"
Before Aerion could reply, he felt the heavy, assessing gazes of the two Battle-Born men shift entirely onto him. They traded quick, hushed whispers. In the game, the Battle-Borns could be incredibly abrasive, demanding to know where a player stood in the local feud.
But in reality, they were patricians, wealthy, pragmatic, and deeply invested in the status quo. They were staunch supporters of the Empire, which meant they didn't share the blind, venomous racism of the Stormcloaks. They were naturally wary of the Altmer due to the Thalmor, but they respected power and influence above all else.
"So," Olfrid said, stepping forward, his sharp blue eyes evaluating Aerion from the hem of his robes to the tip of his pointed ears. "You are the High Elf the whole city is buzzing about. The one who walked into Bleakwind Basin and slaughtered a pair of giants before breakfast."
"News travels quickly in Whiterun and I keep. Eing surprised by those who hear it," Aerion replied neutrally, inclining his head. "I am Aerion. It is an honor to meet the patriarch of Clan Battle-Born. Your family's reputation for loyalty and industry precedes you, even to an outsider such as myself."
The subtle flattery worked wonders. Olfrid's chest puffed out slightly, and the stern lines of his face softened into a look of patrician approval. "You speak well, elf. Better than half the jarls in this frozen province. If you truly cleared that basin, you've done a great service to the trade routes. The Empire needs capable men, regardless of where they hail from, to keep the roads safe from beasts and rebels alike."
Idolaf gave a crisp, steady nod. "A strong arm and a sharp mind are always welcome in Whiterun, Aerion. Provided they are directed at the right enemies, of course."
"My enemies are those who threaten my peace and my prosperity," Aerion answered smoothly, a perfect, non committal diplomatic parry.
Adrianne, sensing that the political posturing was concluded, clapped her hands together. "Well, Olfrid, if we are to finalize this Legion contract, perhaps we should take this to the storefront? Ulfberth has the ledgers, and I need to double check our iron reserves before I sign my life away."
Olfrid nodded grandly. "Lead the way, Adrianne. Come, Idolaf, let us see how much this war is going to cost me."
As the three of them walked around the side of the building toward the front entrance of Warmaiden's, Aerion felt a surge of triumph. It couldn't have gone better if he had scripted it himself. The forge area and the rear smelter were completely empty, hidden from the main road by the architecture of the building.
"Stay, Lupin," Aerion murmured. The fox obediently sat near the tanning rack, keeping watch.
Aerion walked briskly to the large stone smelter. He stepped into the small, shadowed alcove behind it and reached out with his hand, grasping at empty air. His fingers closed around the invisible, cold iron ring of the mod chest.
He didn't need to physically open it. The moment he made contact, his mental interface flared to life.
He quickly navigated the menu of each chest, transferring the gold directly into his system inventory. It didn't physically pour into his pockets, rather, the digital counter in his mind simply ticked upward in a rapid, satisfying blur.
[+25,000 Septims Added to Inventory]
He stepped away from the invisible chest, his heart beating a little faster. The wealth was intoxicating. But he pushed the greed down, remembering his economic theories. He would let the chest be for a few days, and until then, he would make do with the seventy thousand odd septims he currently possessed.
Now, he needed to make good on his alibi. He walked over to the workbench, grabbing a heavy iron ingot, several strips of cured leather, and a standard smithing hammer. He moved to the blazing forge, feeling the intense, blistering heat radiating from the coals.
He had never forged a piece of metal in his human life, and the Altmer body he inhabited was entirely unaccustomed to manual labor. But his Fast Skill Leveling and Fast Magic Mastery abilities were not limited to spells and swords. With his Smithing Skill, should we say they work very well.
He gripped the tongs with his left hand, placing the iron ingot deep into the glowing orange coals until the metal began to take on a cherry red hue. He pulled it out, placed it flat against the bruised surface of the anvil, and raised the hammer.
CLANG.
The sound rang out, sharp and clear. Sparks showered over his robes. The vibration traveled up his arm, jarring his shoulder. He struck again.
CLANG.
At first, the strikes were clumsy, the metal resisting his uneven rhythm. But as the third blow landed, the system engaged. A warm rush of intuitive knowledge flooded his mind.
He suddenly understood more on how the iron flowed under heat. He understood more where to strike to draw the metal out, how to angle the hammer to create the bevel of the edge, and how to use the bounce of the anvil to save his stamina.
He fell into a trance. Heat, strike, turn. Heat, strike, turn.
[Smithing Leveled Up to 10!]
[Smithing Leveled Up to 11!]
He took the glowing, elongated blade to the grinding wheel. He pumped the foot pedal, the heavy stone spinning to life. He pressed the edge of the sword against the stone, a brilliant cascade of orange sparks flying into the air.
He felt the exact angle required to create a razor sharp edge, his hands moving with the steady, micro adjusted precision of a craftsman.
[Smithing Leveled Up to 12!]
Returning to the anvil, he swiftly attached the crossguard and wrapped the hilt in the leather strips, pulling them tight and securing them with a heavy iron pommel. Finally, he plunged the glowing blade into the wooden bucket of quenching oil and water.
HISSSSSS.
A thick cloud of white steam billowed up, smelling of sulfur and hot metal. Aerion pulled the sword out. The iron was dark, cool, and perfectly formed. It wasn't a legendary artifact, but for an iron sword, it was a masterpiece of basic geometry and weight distribution.
[Smithing Leveled Up to 13!]
Aerion wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve, leaving a streak of soot across his golden skin. He felt a deep, visceral satisfaction that magic rarely provided. He had taken raw earth and shaped it into a tool of death with nothing but fire and his own sweat.
He walked around to the front of the shop, the newly forged sword resting easily in his grip. Adrianne had just finished waving goodbye to Olfrid and Idolaf, who were walking back toward the center of town.
"Ah, you're finished already?" Adrianne asked, turning around as she heard his boots. "Let me see what you managed to throw together, Aerion."
He handed her the sword hilt first. Adrianne took it, her practiced eyes immediately scanning the length of the blade. She tested the edge with her thumb, checked the tightness of the leather wrap, and gave it a few experimental swings to gauge the balance.
Her eyebrows shot up, disappearing beneath her soot stained bangs. She looked at the sword, then at Aerion, genuine astonishment radiating from her features.
"By the Gods," Adrianne muttered, running her hand flat against the fuller of the blade. "Aerion, you said you wanted to 'try your hand again' at the forge. You didn't tell me you have improved form the last time I teach you. The balance on this is... well, it's near perfect. The edge is a bit overly aggressive for cheap iron, meaning it might chip if it hits heavy plate, but the structural integrity is flawless."
"I am a fast learner, Adrianne," Aerion said smoothly, reaching into his satchel. "Now, how much do I owe you for the ingot and the leather?"
Adrianne shook her head firmly, stepping back and holding the sword defensively. "Put your coin away, elf. The quality of this blade is far beyond the cost of a single iron ingot. I'm keeping this sword as payment for the rental, and I'll likely sell it to a guard for triple the cost of the raw materials."
Aerion smiled, dropping his hand from his pouch. "That is more than fair. I am glad it meets your standards."
Adrianne fell silent for a moment, looking at the sword in her hand, and then looked back toward the blazing forge in the rear. She let out a long, heavy sigh, the exhaustion of her trade clearly weighing on her shoulders.
"Aerion," she began, her voice taking on a more serious, business like tone. "You heard Olfrid. The Legion contract is massive and probably will be more massive in the future. Ulfberth is no good with a hammer, and I simply do not have the hours in the day to forge fifty swords and thirty shields without collapsing from exhaustion. I need hands. Capable hands."
She looked up, meeting his golden eyes. "I know you are a mage, and I know you likely have your own grand adventures to pursue. But this blade proves you have a natural talent for the steel. I could use an assistant. I'll pay you a fair wage for every piece you finish, and while I may not be Eorlund Gray-Mane, I know a few tricks about working corundum and steel that I'd be willing to teach you."
Aerion remained silent, calculating the angles. He didn't need Adrianne's money, he had over seventy five thousand septims sitting in his mental vault. But money was only one currency in Skyrim.
Working at Warmaiden's, even part time, would establish a rock solid alibi for his presence in the city. It would endear him to the working class Nords, proving he wasn't just a haughty magic user.
More importantly, learning directly from Adrianne would trigger his Fast Skill Leveling, allowing him to power level his Smithing skill in a fraction of the time it would normally take with the usually fast leveling.
High Smithing meant better armor for himself and, eventually, better gear for Captain Sinmir's private militia. Furthermore, gaining levels meant gaining attribute points.
It was a flawless strategic move.
"I am honored by the offer, Adrianne," Aerion finally said, offering a respectful bow. "However, my schedule is quite erratic. I cannot commit to standing at the forge every single day from sunrise to sunset."
Adrianne smiled, clearly relieved that he hadn't flatly refused. "I don't expect you to be an indentured servant, Aerion. You come when you can. You forge what you can. I'll pay you per piece, and we'll share the workload. Does that sound fair?"
"It sounds like a very profitable arrangement for us both," Aerion agreed. "I shall return tomorrow to begin work on the Legion's order."
Adrianne extended a calloused, soot stained hand. Aerion took it, shaking it firmly. It was another alliance forged, another thread in the web pulling tight.
"Now," Aerion said, whistling for Lupin, who immediately trotted out from the side alley. "I believe I promised this creature a sweet roll for his exceptional patience today."
As Aerion walked back toward the Bannered Mare, he summoned his status panel. The day had been incredibly long, physically exhausting, and mentally taxing. But as the numbers floated in his vision, he knew it had been worth every second.
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[Main Panel] Name: Aerion Race: High Elf (Altmer) Health: 160/160 Stamina: 150/150 Magicka: 290/290 Level: 30
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire/Lightning) (Level 29/30), Persuasion (Level 51), Smithing (Level 13), Sneak (Level 16), One Handed (Level 27), Restoration (Healing) (Level 7), Two Handed (Level 31), Lockpicking (Level 9), Archery (Level 33), Alteration (Level 4), Enchanting (Level 9), Light Armor (Level 16), & Block (Level 16)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Steel Dagger, Long Bow, Potions of Minor Stamina, Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Copper and Onyx Circlet, Helmet of Magicka, Cuirass of Minor Health, Steel Sword of Embers, Dwarven Bow of Paralysis, Mammoth Tusk, Iron Shield, Steel Mace, & Steel Warhammer
2x Gold Garnet Rings, Gold Ring, & Scroll Of Fireball
3x Silver Garnet Rings, Silver Rings, & Sapphire,
4x Lockpicks, Potions of Minor Magicka, & Amethyst
6x Potions Of Minor Healing & Ruby
8x Iron Arrows
Weight: 127 KG / 375 KG
Septims = 75,571